


Where We Take This World

by allthislight



Series: The Butterfly Effect [1]
Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluffy Angst, so cheesy you might choke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 12:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8055493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthislight/pseuds/allthislight
Summary: Somewhere, someone steps on a butterfly (or maybe it’s a flower) and everything ends up quite differently than you would expect.Prince Albert leaves London and all hopes to become the husband of the most powerful woman in Europe behind.Queen Victoria does not marry. Instead, she finds a faithful companion in her dear Lord M. 
This is what they remember, one decade down the road.





	Where We Take This World

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fluff-feast before episode 4 aired, worked on it during the commercial breaks and finished it a day later. However, my ao3 invitation only came through just now, one day before the next episode.  
> If you don't know what the Butterfly effect is, don't worry. All you need to know is that it's a bit of timey-wimey-wibbly-wobbly stuff that gives me a perfectly good excuse to write whatever I want.  
> Also can I say how difficult it is to portray ageing when the actor is 10 years younger than the actual man? I have now decided to keep it strictly in the TV show's realm and keep it completely separate from the real people although I did try to include some accurate stuff. I hope you enjoy :)

Somewhere, someone steps on a butterfly (or maybe it’s a flower) and everything ends up quite differently than you would expect. 

Prince Albert leaves London and all hopes to become the husband of the most powerful woman in Europe behind.

Queen Victoria does not marry. Instead, she finds a faithful companion in her dear Lord M. 

Their conversation goes a bit like this:

Light-headed relief, hidden behind indignation.  
Deeply felt affection, hidden behind determination.

And, of course:  
“Lord M! I believe this has very little to do with you thinking I deserve to be happy and everything with you being convinced that you do not!”  
Her passion flares, sets him ablaze. He has an inkling that he will burn to the ground and love every second of it. 

-

This is what they remember one decade down the road:

They rule the country while being madly in love.

They dance together, quite a lot, and have to dance even more with other partners just to make up for it. Still, they make a habit of reserving the final dance for each other, out of breath and glowing as they are and they both know it will be the last thing they think about before falling asleep. 

They fight, quite intensely, about politics, about duty, poverty and austerity, about how much time they can really spend together or the best tactics for their card game.

Once, he makes the mistake of mentioning that Dash might be getting too fat. She doesn’t speak to him for days after that and makes him wear a ridiculous costume to one of her dances before she fully forgives him. The giant bouquet of home-grown flowers he sends her might have appeased her too, but it also drives his greenhouses to the edge of ruin.  
He doesn’t regret it though, not one bit. 

Their worst fight, however, is about the prospect of running away together like the lovesick fools that they are. He is doing his best to stay reasonable and firm when she looks at him with a sadness beyond her years in her cornflower eyes and asks, barely audible over the wind blowing around them, shielding them from the rest of the world, “Don’t you want to have children with me, Lord M?”  
He can’t help but imagine tiny human beings with funny noses running around their house and keeping him up at night, just like their mother. He is filled with a desperate want for all he cannot have, thinks of England and does what he has to do.  
“Not in these circumstances.”

-

They sit together in the library of her winter residence, each of them engrossed in a world far, far away, contained in the pages between their hands. He chuckles at something he’s reading and she looks up at him, always at him. He feels her gaze and looks up to her as well and for a moment they just _look_ at each other and convey everything they feel and cannot say. 

“Will you read to me?” she asks and without hesitation he flips right back to page one and starts reading. She drifts off before he reaches chapter four, a very undignified snore alerting him to her, huddled into one corner of her enormous armchair, deeply asleep. He closes the book, gets up and makes his way to the door, but before he leaves he takes a blanket from the windowsill and drops it ever so gently over her tiny form. He can’t resist and brushes his lips against her forehead, her nose scrunching up at the contact. His heart swells at the sight. 

-

One day, they are riding together in a carriage, soaking up the first sun rays of spring, when suddenly a man draws his gun and aims it at the Queen. Before she can even fully realize what is happening, Lord Melbourne is shielding her with his body, her face pressed firmly against his sternum. She holds her breath, hears a shot ringing through the air and someone screaming. A few seconds later, Melbourne lets go of her and staggers to the left, so she can see the shooter being tackled to the ground. She turns to her companion and exhales in relief before seeing the pain edged into his face and the way he clutches his left shoulder, blood spilling around his right hand. She screams at everyone who will listen to get them to Buckingham, to get a doctor, while covering his hand with both of hers. She is the Queen, so of course everybody listens and does as she commands. 

 

She paces the hallways while the doctors are tending to him, barely remembering to take off her bloodstained gloves before going into his room as soon as the doctors let her to _thank her saviour_. Of course, she mostly yells at him for throwing himself into the line of fire for her while he’s babbling something about doing his duty. At some point they both start crying before she concedes with a “Well, I would have done the same in your position.” 

He does not like the sound of that at all, protests, tells her that she can never do that, he wouldn’t know what he’d be without her anyway. 

She looks at him for a beat, sits down on the bed next to him and takes his hand, now washed clean of his blood and says, “Do you really expect me to feel any different?”

At that he pulls her to him and she tucks her face into the crook of his neck, leaning her body against his uninjured side. They both know this can only last a moment, so she presses a kiss to his throat and he kisses the top of her head at the same time which makes it a bit messy. She whispers a heartfelt “Thank you” into his skin and he soaks it right up, smiles his crooked smile at her and whispers, “You’re welcome, Your Majesty,” in return before she untangles herself from him and gets up, standing before him once more. 

 

When she returns early the next morning with a book under her arm, the doctor tells her that the Prime Minister spent a fitful night. Still, she fully intends to read to him like he did to her, but his Lordship is making things difficult. Being high on morphine, he only wants to talk about her hands and eyebrows. She would never see a man so devoted to anything ever again. 

Naturally, she refuses to let him leave her house before he is fully recovered. His shoulder hurts a bit too much for him to protest. 

-

After his last day in Office, they walk through the gardens of Buckingham House. He once again tries to persuade her that it wouldn’t be proper for him to stay around, but she’s confident that her throne stands on solid ground and is having none of it. 

Their fingers brush and he grasps her hand, only for a moment, so no one can see.  
They keep walking towards the sunset. Together.  
She never looks to anyone else. 

-

Still, there is a time when he cannot possibly be seen at court, so while he stays at Brocket Hall, they exchange letters and flowers and rings they wear with a chain around their neck whenever their clothing allows them to conceal it. 

-

Back together again, she is painting him one rainy afternoon when she realizes that the creases around his eyes and mouth have become more prominent. His laughter lines run more deeply than ever before. Something warm rises within her and she smiles and of course he smiles right back and really, this is what life should be. Lazy days, warmth, contentment and smiling for no reason at all. Before he leaves, he looks up and down the corridor twice before bending down and kissing her dimples. She can feel his ring below his cravat, his portrait hidden underneath her dress. 

-

Someone takes aim at her again, but this time the shooter escapes so she decides to ride the same route again and again to draw him out of hiding. She does not tell Melbourne about it and he’s furious when he finds out, even though her plan worked without anyone getting hurt. He shouts at her like never before, turns away and storms off to Brocket Hall. He doesn’t show his face anywhere for days and does not answer any of her letters and she’s struck by how much she simply _misses_ him. She sees herself forced to ride out to him once again and finds him with his rooks, twirling his ring around on its chain. 

“This is becoming a habit,” she calls before he hears her. She can see how he’s ripped out of his thoughts and turns around to face her. 

“I am still angry.”  
“I know.”

“I just cannot understand how you can risk throwing something as _precious_ as yourself away because of how _bloody_ stubborn you are!” he exclaims, clearly agitated and for a moment she’s taken aback by his use of such a crude word. 

She breathes and gathers her courage, like she did the last time she was here. She remembers all too well how that worked out for her, but she’s determined to not let anything come between them ever again.

“I did it so I wouldn’t have to _hide_ anymore. So I wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore. I am so tired of being _afraid_ , William. Aren’t you?”  
Her words seem to hit him right in the chest. All his fight leaves him and something within him just _breaks_. 

“Only ever stealing minutes and seconds, hoping that no one will see…,” she continues and he finishes for her, stepping closer to her now, “…never saying the things you really mean to say.”

“Yes.”

They _look_ at each other, really look at each other and this time they say everything they feel.

“I love you.”  
“I love you, too.” 

She takes his hand and together they walk to his glasshouses.  
Never letting go. 

-

__It is Christmas and they are walking through the woods surrounding one of her mansions when the gentle snowing and light breeze suddenly gain in intensity and transform their unhurried stroll into a full blown fight against the elements. He takes her hand and pulls her to a little chapel that almost magically appears before them, as if it had been sent down from the heavens just for them._ _

__Thankfully, the door is open so they stumble inside in a flurry of ice and snow. They take it all in, the altar, the four rows of simple, wooden benches, the snow slowly melting in each other’s hair. It is still freezing inside, their breath little clouds in the air, but they might just be melting a little bit inside, too._ _

__“Victoria,” he says for the first time, “would you…”  
“Yes.”_ _

__They pull their rings out from underneath their clothing, take them from their chains and exchange the seemingly mismatching set in the middle of a storm. Only little shreds of their conversation can be heard outside the chapel._ _

__“I promise.”  
“I do.” _ _

__They sit together, rings on their fingers, holding hands and kissing, properly on the lips for the first time.__

The world will never know, but it did get one thing right about them: they really are Mr. and Mrs. Melbourne at heart. 

__-_ _

__A few months before the tenth anniversary of her ascension to the throne, Victoria is thinking of all this and more while on her way to Brocket Hall. An autumn storm is starting to brew outside and she gets a bit wet on her way from the carriage to the mansion, but she doesn’t mind at all. Lord M comes hurrying down the hall and greats her with a gigantic sneeze that seems to reverberate in the entire house. He apologizes profusely, but she just laughs, says “Bless you,” while he ushers her into his study where they sit down in his favourite armchairs next to the fire._ _

__At first they discuss the difficult political situation, the Chartists and Irish nationalists being the reason she sought her most trusted advisor out at his mansion. He had caught a nasty cold and was therefore somewhat reluctant to leave the comfort of his home - still, he had reassured her in his letters that he was on the mend, so she decided to come and visit him instead._ _

__Accompanied by the pitter-patter of the rain outside, their conversation gradually turns to more enjoyable and eventually private matters. He shows her a drawing Augustus made of the Broadwater running next to the estate. She plays a piece of Mozart for him while he is sitting next to her on the piano bench, enthralled by the music and her nimble hands, but when she tries to teach him a simple melody, he turns out to be an utterly hopeless case. He huffs and puffs and she giggles and kisses him on the nose._ _

.

__It’s time for her to leave, but the driver of her carriage informs her that the storm has transformed the roads back to London into an impassable mud hole and the Queen looks all too pleased with herself as Lord Melbourne dutifully offers her a room to stay for the night._ _

__When they dine and play cards together, she maneuvers her feet into position between his, her impish smile never leaving her beautiful face, so he already knows he’s in trouble before she sneaks into his room, minutes after they officially retire to their respective chambers._ _

__“Dear Lord M. Don’t you think I’ve arranged things marvelously?” she asks, leaning against his door and still a little bit out of breath from her sprint across the corridor.__

Her exhilaration fills the space between them and it takes him a few seconds to get his voice to work. 

__“Ma’am you cannot be here. This isn’t right,” he rasps.  
She takes a step into the room. _ _

__“Yes it is.”

“But it is not proper!”

“Perhaps - but Lord M, I’m stranded here with nothing to wear and nobody to help me change. I was hoping you could assist me.”

“I – I’m sure that the, uhm, the m-maid will be quite happy to lend you a hand Ma’am?” 

__She is steadily advancing and he finds himself reduced to a stuttering mess. Finally, she reaches him and places her hand on his already partially loosened cravat. Then she moves in for the final blow._ _

__“But I just want you. William.”_ _

__As always, she gets what she wants. He helps her out of her dress, fishes all the pins and needles out of her hair and unties her corset. He gives her one of his nightshirts, which of course is much too big for her, but he’s never seen her happier, so he just turns away and lets her do as she pleases while getting into his nightclothes as well and thanking his lucky stars that his valet was down with the flu and not able to carry out his duties._ _

__Lord Melbourne briefly wonders if his Queen had known and planned this as well, but then he turns around and there she’s standing, her hair cascading down her shoulder, the shirt hanging lopsided around her neck, baring her left shoulder to his eyes, its seams pooling around her feet and he doesn’t think of anything at all._ _

__She is the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen and he cannot fathom how he managed to end up here, with her looking at him like he’s the answer to everything, the only one she could ever need.  
Her nerves seem to have caught up with her though and she blushes furiously under his gaze, so of course he has to step forward and take her into his arms. He revels in the feeling of her wrapping herself around him and he doesn’t find the strength to even pretend that he wants to send her away, back to her own chambers. _ _

__

__Lord Melbourne and Queen Victoria spend one perfect, precious night together at Brocket Hall. She kisses his hands, his neck, the wound left behind by the bullet he took for her, his ears, just below his now rapidly greying hair. He traces the lines of her eyebrows and nose, feels her collarbones underneath his fingertips and runs them all the way up and down her gracious spine. Yet, they do not cross that final line only a husband and wife should, even though they can both feel their rings heating up from the other’s warmth._ _

.

__They drift off together, their legs intertwined, her face once again pressed into the crook of his neck, her hand lying atop his chest so she can feel his heart slowing down when he falls asleep._ _

__He wakes up several times during the night, because of her adorable but also very loud snoring and his own sneezing, which also manages to startle her awake, but he always coaxes her right back to sleep with gentle words and soft kisses, letting his hands dance along her sides._ _

__At some point, he is spooning her and gets an involuntary mouthful of her long hair, but he just holds her closer and goes back to sleep.  
A few hours later she’s pressed to his back, and he can feel how her knees fit perfectly into the crook formed by his legs. _ _

Somehow, they end up with him lying on his stomach and her lying half on top of him, her hands on his shoulder and neck, her head resting between his shoulder blades and her left leg draped over both of his. It’s a bit uncomfortable and ridiculous - he can _feel_ her snoring into his back and he’s a little too warm under both her and the quilt, but he does not dare to tuck it down, for fear of her growing cold during the night. 

__He is repaid tenfold when he wakes up at dawn to the sensation of her stroking his hair and nuzzling his neck with her nose. One of her hands is busy underneath the blanket, seemingly counting his rips until it creeps down just a little bit and he lets out an involuntary squeal when she hits a particularly sensitive spot, which of course only makes her tickle him harder. He tries to shake her off his back, but she holds on like a little monkey and he feels all sleepy and fuzzy and wonderful and he never wants it to stop._ _

__-_ _

__However, as we all know, all good things must end, which leads us to this:_ _

__One decade down the road, he cannot say that there’s nothing he regrets.  
There are quite a few things _she_ regrets, but infecting herself with a cold while spending the night snoring halfway on top of the only companion she could ever desire is definitely not one of them._ _

__They are just as besotted as they were ten years ago, but now they share the memory of a glorious snog in the early morning hours and they exchange even more adoring smiles over their teacups._ _

__-_ _

__Trying to convince him to start growing orchids in his glasshouses, Augustus once said to his father that the question should never be if something’s going to be easy, but whether or not it’s going to be worth it._ _

__When he holds her in his arms for the final dance of her anniversary ball he knows the answer, they both do, without hesitation._ _

__Yes.  
Yes it is._ _

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language by any means, so I apologize for all the mistakes I surely made. If you would point them out to me or even want to act as my beta, I would be most grateful!  
> I currently have a modern AU in the works and am thinking about adding another decade to this, so any help, comments or ideas are very welcome. Have a nice day :)


End file.
